


love might be found

by Red (S_Hylor), SirSapling



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Armor Kink, Choking, Drowning, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Kinda?, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stripping, The Education of one Steve Rogers, The Ults Green Goo Iron Man Suit, Ults Day Fic, copious amounts of flight goo, everyone is okay though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Hylor/pseuds/Red, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSapling/pseuds/SirSapling
Summary: After Tony's suit malfunctions during a mission and Steve doesn't know how to save him, Tony offers to teach him the emergency manual releases for the Iron Man armour.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 35
Kudos: 194
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo, Ults Day





	love might be found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bardingbeedle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardingbeedle/gifts).



> **Content Warnings:** Tony's suit malfunctions prior to the fic starting, and he is at risk of drowning in the green flight goo that exists inside the armour in the ults canon. He is okay though, and saved in enough time. Steve does dwell on it a bunch though, because he couldn't do anything to help. 
> 
> A huge thank you, and endless love to bardingbeedle for the beta work and screaming encouragement. 
> 
> Title from Love Might Be Found (Volcano) by Montaigne. Because I think it has a lot of Ults Stony energy.
> 
> Also for Red's Stony Bingo card, for the square 'my best suit', because lets face it, Tony's goo suit is his best suit.

With the ache from the recent fight lingering in his body , and dwarfed by the armour beside him, Steve hasn’t felt more like his old self in years. Standing in Tony’s lab, staring at the armour schematics before him, Steve feels like he’s back in school again and being reprimanded for not completing his homework. 

He might as well be, for all the good he’d been out in the field today. 

The smell of smoke that still clings to them both and the scorch marks on the armour that Steve can’t quite bring himself to look at just serve to remind him of the warehouse fire they’d been called to assist on. The fact that Tony stands beside him, still breathing and talking, is a testament to Thor’s quick thinking and actions, highlighting Steve’s own inadequacies by comparison. 

It sits heavy on his mind,  the feeling sinking heavily like a stone through this entire body , the thought that if Thor hadn’t been there, then he’d be standing in a morgue now, beside Tony’s lifeless body, and not here in the lab. He can’t help but be grateful that the threat of catastrophic environmental damage had been enough for Thor to deem them worthy of his time. 

It smarts more that things had been going to plan up until that point. They had the situation under control, Tony and Thor had both worked to remove the chemicals from the warehouse and away from the fire, while Steve had been working with the firefighters to coordinate the efforts to control the blaze. Part of the warehouse roof had collapsed on Tony as everything had been winding up, but when the armour had flown free, Steve had thought the crisis was averted. 

That was until Tony had landed heavily nearby, gesturing at the helmet as frantically as he could in the armour, and Steve knew something was wrong. Except knowing that something was wrong didn’t give him any of the necessary skills to rectify the problem. Not knowing how to remove the helmet had only left him floundering uselessly, panic swiftly ratcheting up by degrees the longer it took. Until Thor had landed deftly beside them, pushing Steve aside to help Tony, quickly removing the helmet. 

Tony had coughed and spat green goo onto the asphalt before drawing in several desperate breaths. He’d explained it later, that the hit had knocked the seal loose on his mask and the suit’s cushioning gel had quickly filled his mouth and nose, threatening to drown him inside his own suit, if Thor hadn’t been able to get the helmet free in time. 

If Thor hadn’t been there, Steve wouldn’t have been able to do more than stand there and watch Tony die. Like the men he had watched bleed out from gunshot wounds he hadn’t been equipped to save. It haunts him even now, even as Tony stands besides him, explaining how the catches and seals work to remove the armour. 

Tony’s grateful smile, and the way his gauntleted hand had gripped Thor’s shoulder as he thanked him, burned more than the smoke in Steve’s lungs. If Thor hadn’t been there. The anger that followed was mostly directed at himself for not being able to help Tony, though some of it was spared for the man himself. What sort of person locked themself into armour they couldn’t easily get out of again? What if no one had been there? Who helped Tony when no one else was around? Who, other than Thor, did Tony trust to know the secrets of the armour?

The thought that Tony didn’t trust him smarted, along with the nagging question in his mind of how much time  _ did _ Thor and Tony really spend together, for Thor to know how the suit worked?

He doesn’t bother to wonder why he was never invited to hang out with Thor and Tony after that first dinner they’d shared. He already knows the answer to that; Jan had told him of just how boring he is. Old and boring, and not trying at all to change either of those things. It was for the best that Jan said as much after the few stilted dates they’d been on, even if it had made everything awkward and prickly between them since. Part of him was glad she hadn’t stuck around to see just  how inadequate he would have been, if they stayed together.

Another part of him suspects that she also knows how to help Tony out of his armour, or would at least be smart enough to figure it out.

When Tony caught his attention just as the fire had finally been brought under control and suggested that he should show Steve the workarounds for the amour, Steve had agreed. To be on the receiving end of one of Tony’s grateful smiles for once, instead of Thor, had had nothing to do with it, even as his traitorous mind filled his head with such images the whole way over to Tony’s place and into his lab. 

Even now, they invade his head: images of Tony’s smile directed at him, the phantom feeling of his hand on his shoulder. Secondhand memories of moments that didn’t belong to him. Something aches fiercely inside him, makes both his throat and his eyes string briefly before he bit the feeling back down and pushed away the longing for casual contact with another human being. 

There’s the slightest metallic creak and the whirring of servos as the armour moves, and Steve can almost feel Tony’s gaze settle on him again, his jaw tensing in response, frowning at the display in front of him. 

“Any questions?” Tony asks lightly, and Steve can’t help but wonder if that’s Tony's way of checking if he’d been paying attention, or because Tony thinks he isn’t smart enough to have understood everything he said as he talked Steve through the various clasps he’d have to disengage on the suit. 

He  _ had _ followed along, could easily recall the steps Tony had walked him through, though he could feel the itch in his fingers, the need to apply action to the theory of it, to firmly cement the knowledge into his muscle memory. So next time he doesn’t even have to think, he can just  _ do _ , and be able to assist Tony whenever he needs it. 

“Doing it would help fix the steps in my memory,” he replies after studying the diagrams a moment longer, turning his attention to Tony in time to see the quirk of an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, though Steve thinks that must be a near thing. He narrows his eyes a fraction, looking up at Tony in challenge, caught off guard again by just how tall Tony is in the armour. “Think you can give me a practical run-through?” 

There’s a flicker of something dangerously playful at the corner of Tony’s lips, like he’s holding himself back from making a joke, before he nods, taking a step back to pick up the helmet from where he’d set it down. “Sure, we can do that. There’s better light this way.” 

Tony turns and starts moving towards the side of the lab he’d indicated to, fitting the helmet back in place with a click and hiss of seals that is barely audible over the heavy footfalls of the armour. 

They pick their way across the lab, Steve following the armour. It’s almost unsettling how quiet and dark it is compared to the previous visits Steve had made there, however brief. Without the noise and movement of other people, the space feels smaller than the giant room has any right to be; a space that only seems to shrink further as Tony steps up onto a platform and a spotlight above it clicks on. The rest of the dimly illuminated room seems to disappear beyond the pool of light thrown over the suit. 

Tony turns towards him, holding his arms out like he’s a showman presenting a marvel, and despite the helmet covering his face, Steve can almost imagine the self-assured smile. “Come on then, soldier, let’s do this.” 

Tony’s voice has a hiss of static over the top, slightly modulated like it always is inside the suit, and Steve takes comfort in the fact that the oxygen mask is obviously properly fitted this time, even as the casual challenge makes something twist in his stomach. His hands sweat inside his gloves, and he can feel stress pull across his scalp and down the back of his neck. It’s nerves, though he can’t pinpoint why; this isn’t a high stress situation, Tony’s life isn’t hanging in the balance, reliant on his quick response. 

Trying to shake off the feeling, Steve pulls his gloves off and tucks them into his utility belt, stepping closer to Tony, who has thankfully dropped his arms back to his sides, no longer looking like he’s imitating Christ. Moving closer, Steve tries to remember the steps that Tony had talked him through earlier, peering up at where the helmet meets the neck of the armour. He can see the catches easily from this angle, and reaches up carefully, tracing them with his fingertips, hesitant all of a sudden. Even if he pretends he’s trying to commit the feel of them to memory, he knows that falsehood will only get him so far. 

It’s a good thing this is only a trial run, and Tony isn’t dying, he admonishes himself. Glaring at the catches, as though they are to blame, Steve hooks his fingertips around the edges. “You’d better warn me if I’m about to break anything, Stark.” 

“You won’t break anything.” Even modified, Tony’s voice comes across softer and more reassuring than it needs to be. 

Buoyed by Tony’s words, in spite himself, Steve eases the catches open, counting them off in his mind, feeling more confident after each one as he gets a feel for how they move and how much resistance they put up. There’s an audible click and the hiss of a breaking seal as the faceplate lifts up, the rest of the helmet feeling loose in Steve’s hands. The green gel from inside the suit flows out onto his skin, and onto the cuffs of his uniform as Steve lifts the helmet away, taking care not to hit Tony in the head with it. 

“Hey there,” Tony smiles down at him, eyes crinkling into an expression that seems needlessly proud. “You didn’t even need my help.” 

The back of his neck feels warm, the heat wrapping around, bleeding into his ears as well. Trying to ignore it, Steve awkwardly holds the helmet in both hands, hesitating a moment before he bends to set down on the floor. When he straightens up again, he’s still aware of Tony watching him, but he valiantly ignores that in favour of reaching out for Tony’s right arm. 

Tony moves to meet him, bringing his arm forward and holding it away from his body. Steve grips his armoured forearm, feeling the alternating smooth metal surfaces and ridges and dips of where they come together. He slides his hand up along the surface of the armour, recalling the location of the catches from the diagram, trying to commit the feel of them to mind so he’d be able to find them blind if the situation called for it. The catches give under his ministrations, the armour coming away in sections until he’s able to slip it off Tony and deposit them on the floor beside the helmet. 

As he finishes repeating the process with Tony’s left arm, Steve notices the metal disks set into the skin of Tony’s forearms, like rivets studded along a vertical line, glistening under the harsh overhead light and under a thin layer of the green gel. He’s seen them before, in any instance when Tony has his sleeves rolled up, but somehow it feels different seeing them now. He knows that they connect Tony to the armour, helping him to pilot it, but for one gut-churning moment he can visualise the suit piercing Tony’s skin and feels terrible. What if he pulled too hard on the arm of the suit? 

He must pause for too long, or not keep the concern off his face, because he can hear the shift in Tony’s breathing before he talks.

“The suit auto-disengages as soon as any of the seals break,” Tony says, as though he can read Steve’s mind. “Prevents any unnecessary injuries.” 

The image of Tony’s whole arm being ripped off along with pieces of the suit flashes through Steve’s mind, and his stomach rolls. The sight of injuries had long ago lost their effect on him, after having seen so many during the war, but the thought of something like that happening to someone he cares about, someone he calls his friend, makes his skin crawl and his throat lock up momentarily. 

He means to say something, whether to deny his worry, or to reprimand Tony for creating things with the potential to injure himself, he’s not sure. In the end all he manages to do is grunt a choked-sounding, “Good.” 

Pushing aside those thoughts, he moves onto the next step, recalling Tony explaining that the chest piece comes away from the shoulders and back, catches running along the seams where they join. 

Above him, Tony chuckles, the sound reverberating and rumbling with Steve’s head so close to his chest. “I’m touched that you care about my welfare, Steve.” 

Steve jerks his head up sharply, catching Tony looking down at him, the green gel from the suit still clinging to his hair and skin in places, catching the light and giving the whole scene an otherworldly tinge to it. He blinks once, then again when his mind is assaulted by thoughts of how attractive Tony is, and barely stops himself from trying to shake the thought loose. He had known from the get-go that Tony was a good-looking man, everyone with eyes knew that, but the thought felt different in his mind now. More settled. Like it had moved in and taken up residence a long time ago and he was only now noticing. It doesn’t help that Tony is smiling at him; it’s small and exhausted, fading around the edges, but it’s a smile that Steve knows is just for him. Just because of him, and it makes something warm and soft settle into his chest and he’s too nervous to examine that, for fear of chasing the feeling away. 

It hadn’t felt like that when Jan smiled at him. 

“Of course I care,” he replies, perhaps a little too gruffly, when he realises that he hasn’t said anything and spent too long staring up at Tony. “We’re a team. We’re meant to rely on each other in the field. We can’t do that compromised.”

Or too useless to be relied on, his mind supplies scathingly, reminding him of just how close Tony had been to drowning inside his own suit, all because he hadn’t known what to do. 

There’s a nudge against his shoulder, Tony’s at the extent of his limited movement, still partially encased in the armour. Reminiscent of the way Tony would clap him on the shoulder as they exited team meetings side by side. 

“Okay, teammate, you going to get me out of the rest of this bucket of bolts?” Tony’s voice carries the smile that is spread easily across his face, the quirk of his eyebrow angled at Steve in a mock challenge. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like a drink after today.” 

“When don’t you?” It comes out almost as joking as Steve means it to, though still harsh enough that Tony’s hand retreats from his shoulder and Steve feels something cold and horrible slide down his throat. He swallows it tightly, and tries to salvage what he can. “I could join you though, if you wanted the company.”

“From you?” There’s a smile in Tony’s voice again, that Steve barely dares to look at. It's not the same easy smile as before, but something softer, almost delicate in its hopefulness. “Always, darling.” 

And it sounds like he actually means it, Steve thinks. Like he might actually appreciate Steve’s company as much as he appreciates Thor’s. Maybe even more so, if the term of endearment is anything to go by. Tony has always been liberal with the nicknames, but this feels different. More intimate. It makes Steve feel warm, pleasantly, like he hasn’t since before the ice. Like somehow, him, standing there in his uniform, stinking of smoke, exhausted and grumpy, is exactly the person Tony wants to be around, and not some stylized idea of him that everyone else wants a piece of. 

Like somehow he is enough. 

“Drinks then,” Steve agrees, hoping to hold onto this moment, hoping that Tony doesn’t forget at the end of this process. 

“I’ll have Jarvis get you some soda,” Tony replies, smile taking on a knowing tint, and Steve feels incredibly seen, knowing that Tony has taken note of his drinking habits, or lack thereof. 

It feels like they are planning a date, Steve realises, belatedly, caught for a moment between wanting to flee out of Tony’s lab, and ardently hoping that’s exactly what it is. It isn't though, he tells himself, firmly, because it can’t be. Despite the smiles and the nicknames, Tony wouldn’t actually want a date with him, surely. He’s not sure if it’s what he wants either. Dates in the recent past haven’t exactly gone well for him. 

Pushing the thoughts away, Steve turns his focus back to the catches on the chestplate of the armour. Everything else is of little consequence if he doesn’t finish helping Tony get out of the armour, he reminds himself sternly. The chestplate has more catches than the other pieces of the armour so far, but he recalls the sequence that Tony had told him would make it easiest to release. Starting at the catches on the shoulders first, having to reach for them, brings him closer to Tony. He can feel the warmth of Tony’s breath on the top of his head, can smell the strangely fresh and clean scent of the green gel still clinging to his skin. The catches release, and Steve steps back again, trying to clear his head as his fingers seek out the series of catches along Tony’s sides, before settling on the last, biggest ones, just beneath Tony’s arms. 

The weight of the chestplate catches him by surprise as it comes away from the rest of the armour. While he knew it was made of fancy metal and all sorts of technological marvels, he hadn’t expected it to be as heavy as it was. Setting it gently on the floor beside the other pieces, he makes a note of the stray thought that Tony works hard to control the suit, evidenced by the muscle definition in his arms alone. 

When he straightens up again to face Tony again, he can see the strain on Tony’s face, the way he has hunched forward to compensate for the weight of the remaining armour. Moving quickly, muttering a curse under his breath, Steve gets behind Tony and unclips the backplate from the more flexible section that covers the space between the bulk of the upper armour and the legs, before heaving the weight off of Tony’s shoulders and back. 

He’s prepared for the weight of the larger section of armour, but even still it’s enough of a strain that he knows a normal person wouldn’t be able to lift it by themselves. Which was why Tony had built machines to lift it for him, but the whole point of this exercise was to learn how to remove the armour in an emergency situation. 

“Thanks, soldier,” Tony breathes, relieved, “I’d forgotten how heavy that was alone.” 

Taking careful steps back to where he’d placed the other armour, the bulking back and shoulder section blocking most of his view, Steve sets it down as gently as he can, alongside all the other discarded pieces. “Some warning next time would be nice. What if I hadn’t looked up in time?” 

“Don’t worry, darling. In most emergencies where you have to manually undress me, I’ll likely be on my back anyway,” Tony replies, tone teasing. 

It takes a moment for those words to sink in, but when they do, the back of Steve’s neck burns hot. Glaring at the pile of discarded armour, Steve tries not to dwell too much on the idea of undressing Tony in any context, it feels inappropriate to think such a thing without permission. Pushing that away from his mind, he focuses more on the idea of having to repeat this process in the field. “I guess then we wouldn’t have to remove it, and it could act like one of those stretcher boards they strapped me to after I fell out the window. Even though I told them I was fine.” 

“Fell? Really, darling. That might be a bit of word-stitching there,” Tony counters, laughter interrupting his words. “I think there might be other ways to better describe how you act around windows.” 

“You really want to start a discussion on self-preservation?” Steve challenges as he straightens back up, turning to face Tony. “Because I don’t thin—” 

He stops, the words drying up in his throat, because Tony’s still standing right there, looking drastically out of proportion now that the top half of the armour has been removed. Which would be funny, in and of itself, if it didn’t also mean that Tony was now at least a third naked. Steve can feel heat prickling across the back of his neck again, seeping into the tips of his ears, in a way that is more confusing than anything else. He’d seen plenty of men in varying stages of undress before, hell the recruitment office had been full of men in only their underwear for the medicals, and that hadn’t even seemed worth taking note of. 

Tony though, Tony was definitely worth taking note of, from the half-smirk still on his lips, to the way his gaze was still focused on Steve, brow furrowed a fraction in what might have been the beginnings of concern. The green gel from inside the suit still clings to his skin, slicking his hair back, or, in some patches,pasting it to his forehead. It dripped down his neck and pools at his collarbones, and Steve can’t stop his eyes from following the movement down, finding himself staring at Tony’s chest. Dark hair, smeared with green goo, covered Tony’s chest, thick, but it looked soft even in the harsh light coming from overhead. Steve’s fingers itch with the desire to reach out and touch Tony, the notion of doing so both foreign and entirely not platonic. 

_ Oh _ , he thinks, blinking once, then again when his mind stutters on that same thought. There’s heat in his cheeks now, and he can feel it crawling uncomfortably down his chest, skin prickly with nervous sweat. The overexaggerated feelings of jealousy and inadequacy from earlier in the day started to make sense. He’d wanted to be the one to save Tony, to do the right thing, and, for a sliver of a moment, have Tony’s attention and gratitude focused on him. 

For Tony to really notice him, the same way he’d always noticed Tony, even if he hadn’t been able to recognise those emotions for what they were. Admitting, to himself, that he likes Tony in a way beyond platonic doesn’t bring the level of panic that he feels it should. Instead it feels comfortable, like returning home after a long time away, something that had been there in the background for a long enough time that he couldn’t anymore pinpoint when it might have started. 

His heart feels at once both light and fluttery, but it also clenches with the pain of possible rejection. There’s still that chance that Tony doesn’t feel the same, fear making his throat tight with worry. Tony isn’t the sort to be cruel with his rejection though; he doubts that Tony would call him names or say anything horrible, but it doesn’t stop that ache from forming. 

“You okay, darling?” Tony asks softly, all veins of the mirth from before gone from his voice, replaced only by careful concern. 

At Tony’s question, Steve realises he’s just been staring at Tony’s chest blankly for what is probably a much longer time than is polite. He nods stiffly, swallows, and takes a step closer to Tony again. He hasn’t finished the job yet, after all. “Sorry, just got distracted by all the…green.” 

Tony chuckles. It makes his chest and shoulders move, something that Steve is infinitely more aware of now that he’s back in Tony’s space. “It won’t stain your uniform, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

It isn’t, Steve doesn’t say, because he isn’t sure how to explain that he’s more worried about undoing the segmented, more flexible midsection of the armour because there was a chance that he’d accidentally touch Tony’s skin. Recalling the steps for undoing what is essentially the suit’s cummerband, Steve can’t help but wonder if Tony would find it amusing or offensive that he calls it that. It distracts him enough that he manages to reach for the first clip, front and centre, comparatively formfitting to the rest of the suit, making it near impossible to slide the clip open without his skin brushing Tony’s. 

Tony’s skin prickles to goosebumps where Steve’s hands brush against him, and he thinks he hears Tony suck in a quick breath over the pounding of his own heart in his ears. There’s a click as the clip opens, and Steve moves his hands carefully around to Tony’s sides, simultaneously finding both clips on either side. It feels intimate, almost like he’s going to hug Tony, but also distressingly far from it. He wants to. Wants to know what it feels like to be hugged by Tony, to be properly held by him, to feel Tony’s arms around him, and his chest pressed to him. Tony’s chest fills his entire field of vision, and his thoughts stray slightly, wondering how long the imprint of Tony’s chest hair would last against his skin if there was ever a chance it would happen. 

The clips on either side undo easily enough, as though designed to only be done with one hand, and possibly from a more awkward angle than Steve is working. Perhaps the only part of the suit that Tony would be able to release himself without aid. 

As soon as the clips release, the segmented plates of the cummerband drop down, collapsing over each other and almost disappearing into the bulk of the armour around Tony’s hips. The movement draws Steve’s eyes down with it and he almost chokes on nothing in surprise at just how low the armour sits. Every distinct line of Tony’s abs is on display, and the dark trail of hair that leads down from his navel. 

If Tony wears underwear inside the suit, there is certainly no sign of it showing, though Steve doesn’t think that Tony is the type to do that and not warn the person helping him out of the armour, so clothing of some sort is probably there, no matter how hidden currently. He wants to know, but at the same time he isn’t sure he does, in the same way he wants to look but doesn’t. 

It’s hard to get his mind to settle on a clear thought that isn’t wondering what Tony looks like completely naked, and every time he gets too close to imagining, his brain seems to short circuit and spiral away again. Spinning through vague thoughts of how it would feel to have another man’s naked body pressed up against his. 

No, he realises, just Tony’s, not anyone else's. The swirl of feelings and lust are all based on Tony, not just any other man. Tony. Somehow, without him even noticing, he’d lost his fool heart to the other man, but there is little in him that wants to fight it. 

“What’s going on inside your head, darling?” 

The sudden break in the silence makes Steve tense in surprise, but he doesn’t flinch away from the accompanying gentle tap against his temple. He knows he’s been staring too long, and that he needs to stop before it gets any worse. Knowing that his face is sure to be bright red, if the heat in his cheeks is any indication, Steve curses his fair complexion even as he tilts his head back to look up at Tony. 

Tony gazes back at him in concern, though some of it seems to slip into thoughtfulness as he takes in Steve’s expression. The hand that had tapped his temple drops to rest lightly on Steve’s bicep, seeming to be both too high and too low to be a casual, friendly gesture. That one point of contact, and Steve feels like he’s being held wholly. It also makes him aware that his hands have been hovering uselessly in the air, near Tony’s sides, and it feels so natural to drop them onto Tony’s skin, warm and slick with remnants on the armour’s gel. 

It feels like hours pass as they just stare at each other, Tony’s expression shifting several times until it settles into something akin to determination. 

“I’m taking a gamble here, darling, and you are more than welcome to run away and leave me stranded here in my very shiny pants and rocket boots,” Tony’s lips quirk into a half smirk, like he was aiming for a joking tone and comment, but didn’t quite commit, before his expression slips back to serious. “But, can I kiss you?” 

_ Yes _ , Steve thinks, though he’s not sure he managed to say it before he rocks up onto his toes, using his grip on Tony’s waist for balance. Tony’s hand tightens on his bicep, drawing him closer as he stoops down. The first kiss is mostly warm breath and barely even a brush of lips, as though neither of them judged the distance quite right. Grumbling in frustration, Steve reaches up with one hand, hooking it behind Tony’s neck and urging him closer. 

Tony seems to move all too willingly, his other hand grips Steve’s elbow, holding him in place in turn as their lips meet with more purpose. Steve’s distinctly aware of the scratch of Tony’s facial hair, the way it tickles across his skin; it complements the warmth of Tony’s lips, the heat that Steve feels radiating between them, the combination of all the things that just feel so right. 

It feels like the first breath after surfacing from the water, like coming home after a long time away. It’s the taste of a thousand of Tony’s smiles, one of which he can feel curving against his lips, and Steve finds himself matching it. 

It feels like this is exactly where he is meant to be. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
